Happy Hatchday
by SerBlack
Summary: Nearing the end of his life, Cyril repays a debt to his oldest friend. (Oneshot)


**Happy Hatchday**

As he surveyed the city below him, it dawned on Volteer that there was hardly a single sight that didn't bring a smile to his wizened face. The sun-baked buildings seemed to glow in the late evening sun, lending the domed towers and bustling streets a sense of radiance befitting the greatest city in Avalar. The streets teemed with all races of creatures. Where once only dragons and moles lived, all manner of felines, gryphons and humans could be seen regularly. Races that had been assumed long extinct or even mythological had reappeared since peace had returned to Avalar. Several minor skirmishes such as the Human Crisis notwithstanding, the realm was entering its fortieth year of peace.

"Here's to forty more, at the very least," Volteer murmured, his gaze now moving up to the mighty walls of the city.

The very first of the watchtower fires were being lit, gradually blazing into life in a vast circle that would encompass the entirety of Warfang in a comforting ring of light until dawn. Twenty-seven towers Volteer counted from his balcony, glowing brightly. Each of these held three dragons that would gaze dutifully out into the dark until their shift expired. A small chuckle escaped him at the thought. That wasn't even counting the towers he couldn't see, and the Guards that were off duty. There were more dragons on the walls now than there had been in the entirety of Warfang after the war with Malefor had ended.

A sharp gust of wind told him it was time to head indoors. He was feeling the cold a lot more acutely in recent years; a consequence of getting old. Or old_er_, as the case might be. He'd overheard some of the Academy students debating his age the other day. While some of the guesses were a tad far-fetched, he_ had_ been born before most of their grandparents. That didn't mean he wasn't still the spryest one hundred-and-twenty-year-old around. Terrador had practically turned to stone—before he'd passed, that was…

Volteer closed the balcony doors of his room slowly, getting one last look at the city through the glass while he did so. Another recent discovery; glass. It really was a marvellous thing. One could make all manner of implements, though windows were indisputably the most useful. Curtains had never really done the trick. What the races of the world could come up with when they weren't constantly warring was astounding.

But for all the beauty of the sight below him, he felt a painful sting of regret. So many had passed before this had been achieved and so many had been struck down to achieve it. His brother, Ashni and all the other good electricity dragons that would never know what their sacrifice had achieved. Even Volteer himself would never see the true extent of the golden age that they were on the cusp of; for all the young students' jokes, he was nearing his final rest as so many of his friends had before him.

"Hello, Volteer? Am I interrupting anything?"

Volteer didn't need to ask who it was. He called over his shoulder, "Only my meandering thoughts. Come in, come in."

The door clicked open gently, allowing Spyro into the room, and Volteer left the window to face his guest properly. The purple dragon he had once schooled in electricity now had to look downwards to meet his eye, something that brought another wan smile to the old dragon's face. He was every bit as big as Terrador had been in his prime, if not a tad taller on top of it. A far cry from when he had faced down the Dark Master all those years ago.

His silent appraisal didn't go unnoticed. "Is everything alright, Volteer?" Spyro chuckled self-consciously, giving himself an exaggerated once-over.

Volteer laughed, gesturing for the purple dragon to come in. Spyro ducked his head slightly as he came through the doorway, broad shoulders threatening to scrape against each side.

"Of course, young Spyro, but it will be eons yet before I can reconcile the dragon before me with the nervous hatchling that I first encountered in Dante's Freezer."

"Hardly 'young Spyro' anymore, Volteer," Spyro replied, moving over to have a glance out the window for himself. "And that nervous hatchling did break you out of there. Even beat up a giant ice monster to boot."

Volteer grinned and shook his head, watching as Spyro carefully wound his way through the clutter that filled the room. Some of Cynder's grace had evidently rubbed off on him over the years. For all the piles of scrolls, little desks and other junk Volteer had piled throughout the room, the purple dragon didn't so much as brush off anything. Volteer allowed him a few seconds' silence to take in the view.

"Captivating, isn't it?"

"Yes," Spyro agreed quietly.

"One of the perks of old age, I'm finding," Volteer continued airily, "Is that you're finally afforded the comfort and relaxation that was so lacking earlier in life. There never existed the remotest possibility of this luxury back when the concerns of dragonkind were heaped upon me as Guardian."

Spyro turned, one eyeridge raised sardonically. "The thing is, I know when you say something like that, you're joking. Cyril, now..."

Volteer glanced to the other side of the room, where his friend and fellow Guardian had slept for so many years before age had forced him into quarters with less stairs. He could see Cyril in his mind's eye, clear as day, grumbling over some triviality or complaining about the heat. His old alcove now contained only a bookshelf, a poor substitute for the banter that had been flung back and forth across the room so often. It wasn't even as good a repository of knowledge as the Ice Guardian either, truth told. Not that Volteer would ever have told him that. He felt a sudden pang of loneliness and looked away.

If Spyro was aware of the effect his words had had, he glossed over it quickly, to Volteer's silent thanks. Finding what space he could next the window, the purple dragon sat down on his haunches. "Anyway, I came to tell you about the negotiations with the gryphons. You did ask me to keep you filled in."

Volteer smiled gratefully, sitting down too. "Thank you, Spyro. You'd scarcely comprehend how little information of sensitivity or value comes my way anymore. I won't argue that these quarters are sublime and my needs are sufficiently taken care of, but being left out of the loop so comprehensively after so many years of effectively governing this city is disconcerting, to say the—_cough_—to say the least."

Volteer brought a paw up to cover his muzzle, cursing the wheeze that had crept into his voice towards the end. Spyro waited patiently as he hacked and thumped his chest, bringing up whatever was clogging his windpipe.

"I think you're going to have to slow down one of these days, Volteer," Spyro suggested lightly as Volteer's coughing subsided. "Or at the very least, break things into sentences?"

"The very notion is ludicrous."

Spyro smiled as if he'd expected nothing else. "That was an attempt, I suppose. As for the gryphons… Six days of negotiations, but they've finally agreed to the treaty. Provided we remove the border forts from between our lands and allow free trade, they'll reduce their armies in size and ally with us."

The words brought out a noticeable strain in Spyro's voice, as if he were holding back considerable tiredness. "I think they sent that diplomat of theirs purely to piss me off. Cynder would have shut her up pretty quickly if she'd heard half the snide little things that gryphon was saying."

Volteer felt a rush of pride for his old pupil. "You'll find that appointment was no accident, Spyro," he said sympathetically. "The gryphons have a storied history of testing the waters in such a manner. But well done! You've accomplished what even myself and the other Guardians couldn't in obtaining this alliance. Who ever said purple dragons were only good for fighting?"

Spyro's discomfort at praise had never left him despite his years, and Volteer sniggered as he watched a blush creep its way onto his face. "I had plenty of help," he said quickly, fidgeting with the carpet beneath his paws. "Plus, you know, it's not the same as when you guys were doing it. It's not like we're in a state of war or anything…"

He couldn't take a compliment to save his life; that much had never changed. Volteer waved a paw half-heartedly. "Forget I said anything. But now that I'm sufficiently informed as to the political struggles of late, how are Cynder and the kids getting along? I haven't seen any of them since young Ignitus' last hatchday!"

Speaking the young fire dragon's name aloud reminded him of something he'd meant to give Spyro, and Volteer clambered stiffly to his feet. Spyro perked up significantly at the mention of his youngest son, chuckling as he began to speak.

"Has it been that long? I'm sorry. I'll make sure he comes to visit the moment he gets home from the Academy tomorrow, though that might not be until around this time. He's just begun learning some more advanced forms of fire, you see, and he and his friends would stay there practicing until all hours if we didn't make them do their other homework!"

"Were you any different when you began school here? Was Cynder?" Volteer countered wryly, his back to Spyro as he hunted through the numerous cubbyholes that housed his books. "They're teenagers; undoubtedly they'd rather be showing off and practicing combat than labouring away over some tiresome tome."

Spotting that which he'd been looking for, Volteer plucked a small journal from the wall. It was a small thing compared to the other books in the room, bound in dyed red leather that was cracked and faded with age. The binding resin that had held the spine was long gone, and the cover was the only thing keeping the pages inside together. For a moment he wondered if he shouldn't hand over such a delicate thing, but thought better of it. What was something like this for, other than to be used?

He crossed back over to Spyro with the journal in paw. Spyro took it with a curious expression, running a paw over the cover that was devoid of any writing that would identify it. His claw hovered over the string keeping the whole thing in one piece.

"May I?"

"By all means," Volteer replied, sitting down once more with a soft groan. "It's a present for Ignitus, now that you've reminded me of it. Think of it as a belated hatchday gift. It's a journal detailing intermediate and advanced fire-controlling techniques. I think he'll be quite taken by it."

Spyro smiled, delicately severing the string with a deft claw-swipe. "Thank you, Volteer. I'll give it to him, but I'd be surprised if it interests him any more than the Academy-issued version he already has."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so hasty to dismiss it," Volteer replied slyly, savouring the nonplussed look Spyro was giving him. "It was written by his namesake during his formative years as Guardian, after all."

The reaction was priceless. Spyro's jaw dropped open so comically Volteer couldn't help but snort with laughter, watching as amethyst eyes darted rapidly from the journal to himself and back again. He seemed torn between leaving it down reverently before him and keeping it clutched in his paw forever. Then he eased open the leather cover with a claw, revealing the unarguable signature of the former Fire Guardian beneath.

"Volteer…master," he babbled, glued to the page. "There's no way I can take this. How do you even have Ignitus' old fire-casting journal? It must be almost a hundred years old!"

Volteer clutched a paw to his chest in mock offense. "Spyro, you wound me. Do I really appear that antiquated?"

Spyro's pained expression told him the shot had hit home. For all his political savvy, he was still far too easy to mess with. One would think that, between Cynder and Sparx, they'd have taught him a thing or two about ribbing over the years…

"I apologise master, it's just…" Spyro hesitated, gnawing on his lip. "This is a priceless fire element document. It's not that I'm not grateful for the gesture, but are you sure giving this to a teenage dragon for his Academy studies is wise?"

It was the same question he'd asked himself a few minutes earlier when he'd gone for the journal, and Volteer waved it away. He made sure his voice brokered no argument. "True and true, Spyro, but such a trove of knowledge is infinitely more useful in the paws of enthusiastic young dragons who will fully exploit it."

Volteer leaned in, looking straight into Spyro's eyes. "Tell me, would Ignitus have wanted this to gather dust on a shelf, or do you think he'd have preferred if a dragon bearing his name were to take it and benefit from his teachings?"

While he seemed on the verge of arguing some more, Volteer knew Spyro wouldn't contest a point like that. After another brief moment of indecision, Spyro retied the string over the cover and tucked the journal under his wing, lacking a bag of any sort. There was silence between them for a moment; not an awkward silence, but a companionable one. The sort where nothing needs to be said. Volteer knew from the warm smile on his old student's face that he was already relishing the thought of giving his son the gift.

Then Spyro yawned and the quiet of the room was shattered. Shifting his wing so as to press the little journal closer to himself, he got up from his spot on the floor. While it was by no means a sudden movement, Volteer felt an immediate jolt of loneliness at what was coming. He cast around wildly for something to say to continue the conversation somewhat, but Spyro was already at the door, pulling it open with a faint creak.

"I'll make sure he knows where this is coming from, Volteer," Spyro said, pausing in the doorway for a moment. "Wouldn't want to go taking credit where it isn't due, after all."

He chuckled slightly at his own joke, but Volteer's own laugh was scarcely audible. It must have been too dark for Spyro to see his expression clearly, but he turned away just to be sure. Spyro had a family to get back to, a mate and children. There was no point in making him feel guilty for cutting his visit to an old coot like himself short. Spyro would feel guilty, he knew well.

This silence was a little more strained and Volteer cursed himself inwardly as Spyro's posture sagged a little, no doubt realising what was going on. His voice was soft. "I'll tell you what, he'll probably want to come up here to thank you himself when he realises—"

"No…no, really, Spyro," Volteer cut across, waving a paw stiffly. "There's a million and one things any youngster in his right mind would give precedence to over such a…laborious chore. Just give him my best."

It had been a nice little visit; there was no denying that. He shouldn't begrudge Spyro for having to cut it short. There was just one more thing he hoped for before his old student left. It was a long shot that he'd remember, indeed foolish to think that he'd even know in the first place. And yet…

"So," he ventured softly, facing Spyro once more. "Will that be all?"

Spyro looked down at his paws and Volteer knew that it was. He hadn't meant for that to come out like a dismissal, but it was clearly being taken as such.

"Yes, Master," Spyro said, bowing slightly as he backed out the door. The gesture brought a small smile back to Volteer's mouth. It was the kind of unnecessary, kind gesture that was characteristic of Spyro by now. "I'll be sure to visit again soon. Take care."

With that he was gone, pulling the door closed behind him. Volteer dragged himself back over to the window, but the view had lost some of its lustre by now. He sighed. It had been a long shot that Spyro would remember. Juvenile in the utmost that he still cared about such a trivial thing at this stage of his life, but it would have been heartening just to know that—

"M-Master Cyril! What are you doing here?!"

Spyro's startled yelp carried easily through the wood of the door. Volteer jerked around, scarcely believing his own ears. Before he could so much as make a move towards the commotion, another voice rasped in answer; a cultured, educated and thoroughly pissed-off voice at that.

"If you must know, Spyro, I'm taking this opportunity to escape from my holding cell. Those bloody hatchlings actually tried to mash up my supper before I ate it! Next thing you know, I'll be spoon-fed…"

"Cyril, you know the young helpers mean well. Just be sure to tell them that you're perfectly able to eat by yourself."

The latch clicked and the door swung open a few inches before coming to a stop with barely enough room to admit a mole. There was a muttered curse and some scraping from the other side. Volteer suddenly felt it prudent to call out.

"Cyril, is that you?"

"A moment, please."

Volteer started as the door was flung violently around on its hinges to smash off the wall, a chunk of ice deeply embedded in the centre. Silhouetted in the flickering torchlight of the brazier outside in the hallway was an old dragon, so old in fact that Volteer was sure for a second his eyes really were gone as poor as the rest of him. Cyril clomped into the room, the metal brace around his right foreleg making up for the lack of imposing noise the rest of him made. A satchel hung across his back, but it couldn't hide where his once lustrous periwinkle scales were dry and even missing in places, providing stark contrast against the imperial figure of Spyro, hovering anxiously behind him.

"Cyril," Spyro was saying, "I appreciate that you wanted to leave, but you can't just run off without telling anyone!"

"I did tell them, all of my captors," Cyril snapped over his shoulder, still painstakingly dragging his metal-bound leg across the room to his old bed. It was no longer in its old alcove, but pushed right into the corner of the room and obscured by further piles of literature. "They were a little preoccupied unfreezing themselves from the floor to stop me, you see."

Spyro grimaced. "Cyril…"

"Yes alright, alright. I'll apologise when I go back. And I will go back, as soon as I've had a chance to chat with Volteer here." Cyril turned, acknowledging his friend for the first time since he entered. His wink was almost unnoticeable. "So run along now and I'll be…home before midnight."

It was a well-calculated ploy, Volteer had to give him that. If there was one thing Spyro was always susceptible to, it was a compromise. As expected, their old student wavered and gave in after a moment or two of thought, albeit with a world-weary sigh and a promise that he would have someone check up on them at midnight. He then excused himself, closing the door on his way out and leaving the two old dragons to themselves. Volteer took the opportunity to get a better look at his friend, who was busy clearing himself a space to sit down. Even in the month since he'd last seen Cyril, things had gotten a lot worse.

The ice dragon turned and lowered himself slowly onto his old bed, having deposited the books that had been there ungracefully on the floor. He must have noticed Volteer's concern, because his satisfaction at Spyro's departure evaporated instantly. He raised his braced leg, letting it clang off the floor.

"I know. It's starting to speed up. Another few months and I won't be able to walk at all."

Pleasantries are for potential enemies, he'd said once. Still, it was unlike Cyril not to open with a disparaging remark or witticism, and that worried Volteer more than the bone sickness. They'd known about that for years, and this was the first time it had taken a visible toll on Cyril's stubbornness.

"Cyril…" he began softly, treading carefully. "You shouldn't have come. I was going to visit you this weekend—"

"And you still can," Cyril interrupted smartly. "But I had to prove to those young upstarts that I can still do one width of Warfang, even if you have to carry me back there. Secondly, there's something I came here to give you."

Part of him wanted to reprimand Cyril for walking alone across the city in his present condition, but his curiosity was piqued. Cyril, despite his numerous and loud protests otherwise, knew better than to rebel against his caretakers like this. He watched patiently as Cyril used his good paw to free the satchel from his back, muttering a few curses for good measure as the strap got caught around his neck. Once freed, it hit the floor with a solid metallic thump. While Cyril rolled out his shoulders after taking the weight off them, Volteer plucked the satchel off the ground and brought it over to his desk.

"Hold on a moment, what's this?" Cyril said indignantly, causing Volteer to forget the mystery object for a moment and crane around. His friend was staring in disgust at the books he'd turfed onto the floor upon sitting down, as well as the bookshelf that had been installed where his bed had once been. "Your genealogy collection, really? You've had me replaced by tomes on your simpleton ancestors. I suppose that's your idea of a joke?"

There he was—the old Cyril. The challenge was implicit. "Twice the knowledge at one tenth the mental toll. Being perfectly frank, I can't surmise why I didn't make the change earlier."

It could have been any one of a million exchanges shared within these walls. Cyril scoffed, but his eyes smiled. He gestured to the bag on the illuminated desk. "You might change your tone in a minute, razor wit. How have you been yourself?"

Volteer shrugged noncommittally. "Quite well, all things brought into consideration. The quarters are plenty large, and since I've retired from the teaching roster I find myself with an abundance of time and not much I can feasibly do. I might do something about making the room a little warmer, though. These draughts, I fear they might be the end of me one day…"

He coughed again, a dry raspy cough. Cyril chuckled and shook his head, gaze wandering to the window for a moment before coming back. "You old bugger, about time you felt something. You've lived the charmed life for too long, I say. The rest of us can barely make it to a hundred without something or other, and you reach the grand old milestone of one-twenty without so much as a scratch."

Volteer straightened up from his coughing to find his friend smiling at him. Of course he'd be the one to remember. The visit, the bag; it all made sense now. Without any further preamble he turned and tore the satchel away from the item within; a metal cylindrical object, steel and painted in swirling designs of yellow and grey. His first instinct was that it was some sort of fancy scroll-holder, but the tone of Cyril's voice told him otherwise.

"Happy hatchday, Volteer."

A simple twist popped open one of the slightly bulbous covers that were at each end of the cylinder, and Volteer let the tightly rolled-up scroll inside fall out into his waiting paw. It was heavy, extremely so for a normal scroll, and wound around two thin wooden shafts that clearly marked the beginning and end of the paper as opposed to the normal clean cut. On closer inspection, he realised it wasn't regular paper or papyrus at all, rather vellum, an altogether rarer commodity. The amount of money it must have cost to assemble a piece this large alone was…staggering. It was expertly cut, with even edging and an impossibly smooth finish. Volteer was almost afraid to open it.

Setting the scroll carefully down on his desk, he took one of the wooden end pieces and began to unfurl the vellum. There appeared to be dozens of small circles linked by golden lines. It took him a moment or two of blinking in the candle and lamplight to focus his vision and realise what he was actually looking at. Portraits of dragons—but not just any dragons.

Volteer had to stop himself from yanking the scroll fully open in a bid to see it all. The notion passed quickly though; to do so could cause any number of tears or rips. Instead, he hurriedly swept clean two nearby tables and placed them end to end with his desk to create a long surface that would facilitate the likely length of the scroll. With Cyril watching soundlessly over his shoulder, he unfurled it along his makeshift table, his guess as to the length proving relatively close. His suspicions as to the portraits were right on the button.

A slight gasp escaped him as the full extent of what he was looking at became clear—a family tree of his ancestors, spanning hundreds of years into the past. His eyes roved over the minute paintings, taking in names and faces both familiar and completely unknown to him. The workmanship was truly remarkable. Golden painted threads in swirling designs surrounded each picture, linking them for the mates, sons, daughters and parents that they were. He glanced up to the very top of the scroll, eager to see where it began. The oldest dragon he could trace his ancestry to was born almost a thousand years previous. His paw brushed lightly over the portrait, sliding over the smooth calfskin.

"Hmm, yes," Cyril said, with a hint of chagrin. "It seems your dear forefathers weren't quite the dredges of society I'd taken them for. Several notable military figures, and a bard or two. That much doesn't surprise me, to be honest. Not quite the bloodline of an ice dragon, but not bad, either."

"Cyril…" Volteer rounded on his friend almost accusingly. "How much did this _cost_ you?"

Cyril's face screwed up in affront, genuine this time. "Ancestors, Volteer, can't you just take a gift? I mean—"

"No, really," Volteer cut in worriedly. "It's not that I don't wholeheartedly appreciate it, I really do. But this level of artisan craftsmanship combined with the slavish research that a genealogy of this length must have required? You could acquire a small mansion for that much!"

Cyril sat back on his haunches stiffly, crossing his good leg over his braced one. Much of his good humour had leaked away during Volteer's little outburst, but there was no way Volteer was going to see his friend's family bankrupted over a hatchday gift, no matter the occasion. The ice dragon's tone was hurt.

"I see it's too much of a stretch for you to believe that I could possibly have made it myself, then?"

"Made it yourse—" Volteer began, turning back to the scroll. Cyril had always been an excellent artist, in keeping with his background of class and culture. It wasn't inconceivable that he could have produced work like this, but the scale… Even a young dragon with two steady paws would have taken months to claw-paint something this vast.

"Volteer, I'm confined to the one building for most of my days, watched over by some thirty-somethings that get all flustered if I try to eat my meat without letting it cool," Cyril said sharply. "If I want to spend twelve hours of every day just reading up on histories and painting a scroll, they're more than happy to let me if it means I'm not fighting them to get out."

Volteer felt his stomach twist with shame at his friend's rebuke, but he still had to ask. "This must have taken you the better part of a year…"

"About one and a half, by my reckoning," Cyril replied simply, some pride replacing the iciness of a moment ago. "I've had to devote a little more time to it recently, seeing as I've been at a bit of a disadvantage in the dexterity department, and I don't know how much longer I'll be able to paint."

As he reached the bottom of the family tree, Volteer finally spotted his own face grinning back at him. It was an excellent likeness, albeit one from his youth rather than his current state. _Volteer_, it read. _Guardian, General and Friend. _Unbidden, he felt a lump in his throat.

"Cyril…this is…I'm so sorry—" he whispered, turning to face his friend.

Cyril's eyes met his sternly for a moment, but his frown softened. Immediately he seemed to acquire a jovial attitude, as if nothing had ever happened.

"Don't worry about it, Volteer," he said gruffly, giving him a half-smile. "If I hadn't learned to forgive you your simple thoughts and general lack of intelligence years ago, you'd be six feet under by now."

Volteer didn't know whether to keep his head bowed or to snort with laughter. There wasn't a single thing that Cyril had ever held against him. They had always routinely said things between themselves that would have led to blood feuds had they been uttered by anyone else, and yet when something was said that crossed a line, it was instantly forgiven. There was an understanding that went deeper than any mistaken words ever could.

Cyril plodded over a second time, giving Volteer a little jostle as he did so to make him lift his head. He motioned towards the end of the scroll, which was still blank. The final entries consisted of Volteer and his brother, whose mate Ashni and daughter Levina the portraits petered out with, but there was still quite a bit of empty space. Cyril tapped at it with a claw.

"I said I'd leave some extra space in case Levina wanted to continue it on herself," he explained, drawing a nod from Volteer. "To be honest, I also didn't trust myself to paint her young ones. They all look quite alike at that age, if you ask me."

Volteer sat back on his haunches and began the process of folding the scroll back up, treating it as if it were a millennia-old artefact in his care. Of course, properly cared for, a scroll such as this could last that long. For an instant, he envisioned dragons in years to come looking at his portrait and wondering for themselves who he had been. Then he shook his head.

"No no, Cyril, you were right to leave it," he said, putting the scroll delicately back inside its protective cover and placing on the desk. "I'll be sure to mention it to her next time I see her."

Cyril grunted and there was a momentary silence. While altogether too aware of the hurt he had caused his old friend a moment ago, there was another question Volteer had to ask and it was as good a time as any to ask it.

"Cyril, I have to ask…" He paused for a moment as Cyril looked at him, eyebrow raised in anticipation. "Why did you go to such trouble over a simple hatchday gift?"

Another silence. Cyril's head dipped as he seemed to mull over the question. The flickering candles and torches emphasised his once sharp features, drained and tired, yet still proud. His brow furrowed as his eyes bored into some point on the table before him.

"I'm not quite sure how to respond to that," he muttered eventually, looking away. "I thought it would have been obvious."

It was an unusually cryptic response from the normally blunt ice dragon. Volteer held back a response for a moment, feeling like he was missing something.

"I realise it's my one-hundred-and-twentieth, but that in and of itself isn't inherently remarkable," he said carefully, watching as Cyril shook his head. "Certainly not to such a degree that it's worth the tremendous effort you put into this…magnificent piece."

"It is for your hatchday," Cyril said quietly. "Do you really not remember?"

Volteer racked his brains furiously, but nothing popped out at him. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd given Cyril a hatchday present of any kind. There had been their hundredths, of course, but since then…nothing. Even when he thought back further into the past, there had been a few years after the war where they'd exchanged hatchday gifts, just to celebrate a return to normal society, but they hadn't been anything special. The years before the war… They were a distant haze at this point.

Cyril had been waiting patiently as Volteer had been thinking, but he must have interpreted his friend's silence for what it was. A huff of breath escaped him, like the ghost of an incredulous laugh that never formed in the end. He rubbed his eyes with his free paw before fixing Volteer with an intense look.

"Let's try my hatchday. Sixty years ago."

Volteer felt his face contort further in confusion. "Sixty years? That was…well, that was during the height of the war. Before the raid on the Temple. What about it?"

Cyril lurched from his sitting position to take an impromptu step forward. His metal-encased leg thumped off the floor, adding literal weight to his stare. For a moment, the candles in the room flickered. Volteer shivered.

"The mountain base. Gaul's lieutenant, Hardraada. You do remember! I'm doing this for a reason, Volteer. I made a promise."

Volteer did remember, and the memory came back to hit him with the force of a battering ram.

* * *

><p>They were running through great passageways hewn from solid rock, too perfect to have been created by anything other than magic. Set deep into the mountainside, this had once been a home to a great city of earth dragons, who had lived safe from the dangers of the outside world amidst veins of spirit gems and walls of volcanic rock. It had been a haven, a jewel in the crown of the dragon kingdoms. That was before the war, though, and the coming of the apes.<p>

Like so many similar cities, it had fallen before the ape onslaught. The inhabitants had put up a strong fight, but when the numbers of foes became insurmountable, they chose to flee to safety rather than stand and die. Then it became a fortress of the apes under the command of one of Gaul's favoured lieutenants, Hardraada. This was unacceptable to the council of Warfang, and the reason he and Cyril were there. It was the reason he lay limp and bleeding across Cyril's back while his friend barrelled desperately through the perfect hallways, backtracking to their escape route.

Every frantic step Cyril took sent a lance of pain through Volteer's abdomen, but there was no other way he was going to get away in his current state. A part of him wondered how heavy he was like this, a dead weight, and armoured to boot, impeding Cyril's ability to run properly. The ice dragon was making excellent time regardless, but that may have had something to do with the pack of apes screeching behind them, swarming in from all directions and swelling in number by the second. They hadn't taken the death of their commander happily.

"You bloody fool!" Cyril hissed over and over again as he ran. "We should have aborted like I told you!"

Hardraada, according to their spies, was to have a private meeting with two of his field commanders in an old citadel deep within the city. It was as vulnerable as he was ever likely to be outside of a full-scale battle, and inside his own fortress his guard would surely be down. Sneak in, assassinate him, sneak out. Except their spies had gotten it wrong. There had been ten local commanders, the entire army's worth, and they'd been expecting the two guardians.

Volteer howled as Cyril mistimed a corner and glanced off a wall. His armoured side took the brunt of the blow, but the twisted metal over his wound grated horribly against his torn scales. If the bastard hadn't managed to raise that sword of his just as Volteer had landed on him, they'd have been long gone by now. As it was, he was rapidly turning Cyril into a fire dragon in appearance. Cyril gritted his teeth at his friend's yelp, redoubling his speed.

They reached a split in the tunnel and several valuable seconds ticked by as Cyril cursed his way to a decision. Behind them, the leading members of the ape pack chasing them came into view around a corner. Little soldiers armed with nothing but their bare claws. Paltry enemies for two guardians, but any delay at all could be fatal.

Turning as quickly as he could with his burden, Cyril fired an ice-spike down the hall. The lethal missile hit the leading ape dead-centre in the chest, skewering him and flinging his mangled body back into some of his comrades. Cyril gave a primal roar.

"_Back, you filth_!" he bellowed, the sound almost deafening in the confined space. "Or I'll tear you apart like the swine you are!"

The apes faltered in their charge and dropped to the floor as several more ice bullets exploded around them or found their marks. Not stopping to see what carnage he'd caused, Cyril took off again with Volteer groaning feebly on his back. He longed to just reach across his back to undo the straps of his armour, even to just give Cyril a break. But to do so now could spell a death sentence. His various packs jangled with every leap. Inside one of them lay the red crystals that could save his life, but only if they reached safety soon.

"Up here and to the right, isn't it?" Cyril panted as he neared another turn in the passageways.

Volteer gave what he hoped was an affirmative grunt, but it came out more choked than anything else. The apes behind them were gaining ground once again. The larger weapon-wielding soldiers would have bolstered the bravery of the smaller ones and made them rejoin the chase. Yet, against the odds, they were nearing an escape. As long as the Dreadwings didn't catch sight of them, they could land in the forest below, conduct a little bit of battlefield surgery and limp home under cover of darkness. The hallways were getting narrower, a sure sign they were nearing the edge of the mountain. As Cyril had said, there was only this corner left. He might still make it.

Cyril rounded the corner and Volteer felt the world spin as his friend threw himself to the floor immediately. There was a _whish_ of something flying over their heads, grazing the side of one of Cyril's wings. Dizzy with pain, Volteer lifted his head to squint at what was in front of him. The glimmer of daylight was visible at the end of the hallway, but it was obscured by a number of shapes. Familiar, two legged shapes.

"Ancestors damn it," Cyril whispered beneath him.

Blocking their exit ahead of them was two of the formidable commander apes, surrounded by a number of their smaller lackeys. Both were armoured in breastplates and helmets of typical crude ape make, but these only seemed to make the muscled beasts beneath more ferocious. One hefted a curved scimitar with a spirit gem embedded in its base, which he clashed against his circular shield with a war-cry. The other sported a bundle of javelins on his back, each large enough to cause a mortal wound on even a fully grown dragon. Judging from how he was lining up a shot, it must have been what had missed them moments before. Their little cronies hooted and screamed with glee, no doubt aware that they had the dragons trapped.

The sounds of the chasing ape pack were deafening. At any moment they would be completely cut off in both directions.

"Cyril…" Volteer said, as urgently as he could.

Cyril growled furiously. "Dammit, I know! There's a side door up ahead; I'm going for it."

He lurched forward again, sides heaving from the effort of carrying Volteer. The apes howled in excitement and their javelin-wielding leader let fly with one of his deadly projectiles. Without breaking stride, Cyril barked off another shot. With unerring accuracy, it met the javelin head on and both exploded in a small hailstorm of ice and splinters. Cyril burst through the cloud of self-made shrapnel with a roar, just in time to see some of the smaller apes racing towards him. At the tunnel exit, the other of the two commanders brought his shield around in front of him and assumed a defensive stance.

"Nowhere left for you to run, dragon," he taunted. "Try to get by me and I'll mount your scaly head on a pike!"

Cyril bared his teeth and roared in reply, picking up speed. The small apes were nearly upon them when Cyril lowered his armoured head, presenting his two long horns to all in front of him. The apes tried to fan out, but the hallway was far too narrow for all of them. With the force of a boulder, Cyril rammed through the front line of them, spearing one of the leading apes right through on his horn. His shoulder crunched into the smaller enemies, knocking them into the walls or under his unforgiving claws. He whipped his head around, dislodging the ape stuck on his horn with a squelch.

As he did so, another ape took the opportunity to skirt beneath him. The little creature withdrew a dagger and hacked at Cyril's neck. The blade deflected off the well-made plate armour protecting him, but the force of the blow threw him slightly off balance with more enemies approaching. Reaching into a desperate reserve of strength, Volteer spat a fork of lightning at the ape. From point-blank range he couldn't miss, and the smell of seared flash and fur met his nostrils as the ape fell back. Exhausted, Volteer collapsed against Cyril's neck, eyes aimed blankly ahead.

The pack pursuing them had arrived, helpfully announcing their presence with those horrific yowling noises they always made. Cyril didn't even stop to look around, but rather shouldered his way through the remaining enemies in front of them, eyes locked on the small doorway the branched off just ahead of them. The commanders sprang forward as they realised his plan, but Cyril was too far gone for them to stop him. As they reached the doorway, Volteer felt himself go airborne for a second before crashing agonisingly to the floor. Now unburdened, Cyril turned and smashed his front paws into the floor.

A barrier of ice erupted from the ground, sealing the entrance tightly and expanding in tendrils until it looked like it was grasping the stone around it. Cyril grunted in exertion as the shield in front of him grew brighter and thicker. He must have been drawing moisture from hundreds of meters of solid rock around them to form a barrier that thick, but he didn't stop until the cries of the apes outside were thoroughly muted. Only the dull thump of their weapons on the ice could be heard.

Volteer rolled painfully over onto his back, doing whatever he could to keep his wound out from underneath him. He looked away from the gash in his stomach; it wasn't something he really needed to see. Instead, he loosened the straps of his armour and pushed it away from himself, leaving his paws free to put pressure on the wound. Beside him, Cyril stepped back from his handiwork and turned his attention to his friend. It took him only seconds to locate the pack on Volteer's armour that contained the lustrous red healing crystals, ripping it open wordlessly. The bright gems tinkled as he smashed them, their power flowing into Volteer's abdomen.

A long hiss escaped Volteer as his scales knitted together before his very eyes, the flow of blood ceasing like a cork put in a bottle. The room around him sharpened in focus, enough for him to see the shapes of the soldiers outside Cyril's wall of ice, beating furiously against it. Cyril himself was breathing heavily beside him, treating a few small wounds of his own with a dark expression. The other thing that occurred to him as his vision cleared was that there was no other exit in the room they were in. They had run into a dead end.

Volteer let out another shaky breath. He was still alive, at least. That was something. There was nothing else of note in the darkened room besides a small clump of light crystals glowing dully out of the ceiling. They lay in a small open area surrounded by alcoves. Perhaps, in another life, this had been a guardhouse or a waiting area.

Cyril looked up from his ministrations of himself, catching Volteer's eye. "Why didn't you run when I told you to?" he said sadly, shaking his head. "He wasn't worth it."

"That's not true, Cyril, and you know it," Volteer replied tiredly, dragging himself over to a nearby rock he could prop himself up on. "They were waiting for us; they knew we were coming. At the very least, we had to take something from it."

"You don't know that!" Cyril snapped. "We could have fought our way out together. Now we're going to—" He paused for a second, turning away quickly. "There's no other way out of here. Sooner or later they're going to bring down my shield. That big one had a gem in his sword."

He sank down until he was lying on his stomach, head in his paws. He glanced up again. "Can you fight at all?"

Volteer tried to turn himself back onto his stomach, but his recently repaired abdomen screamed in protest at the movement. Despite the power of the gems, he still felt as if he'd been pummelled repeatedly by a golem. With a sigh, he gave up. "No, I don't think so."

Cyril gave a frantic laugh. "Brilliant. Survive a sword to the stomach so we can watch our death arrive inch by inch through the doorway. Fantastic."

Volteer tilted his head over to look at his friend. Cyril was staring at his shaking paws, mouth trembling. His tail slapped against the floor repeatedly, gouging marks in the stone.

"Cyril…" Volteer said quietly. "Snap out of it."

The words seemed to have an electric effect on the ice dragon. His head snapped around. "Snap out of it? Snap out of the fact that we're about to die at the hands of some dirty apes because of some bad intelligence in a"—he waved a paw around wildly—"glorified waiting room?!"

His voice dropped from a bellow to a moan. "This isn't how it was supposed to end, Volteer. I gave up the chance of a family and a life for this, for a chance to serve dragonkind. I can't die some ignominious bloody death at the hands of these dirty creatures."

As if on cue, the apes outside howled. A larger figure had drawn up on the other side of the ice. There was a purple glow before a muffled thump echoed through their room, accompanied by the whip-like crack of a split in the ice. They hadn't long left. With a monumental effort, Volteer rolled himself onto his stomach. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he began to drag himself over to where Cyril sat.

"The only way you're going to die like that, Cyril," he said, forcing the ice dragon to look at him, "is if you stand here while they cut you down. I may not be able to fight, but I'll be damned if I don't take _one_ of them with me. If you hide in one the alcoves, I might be able to distract them enough for you to take them by surprise and escape—"

"What?!" Cyril exploded, snarling into his face. "Are you suggesting that I'd leave you here to save my own skin? Is that what you think of me?"

"I think that's what you're talking like," Volteer replied evenly, glancing towards the weakening door. "Because the way I see it, we have three choices. You sneak out, you cut our way free, or we have a song written about how we go down, just like your glorious ancestors."

Cyril did nothing except turn and face the door as well. The looming shape of one of the ape commanders was clearly visible now, over halfway through their protective barrier. His hideous visage leered at them as he hacked his way in. Mercy was one thing they would not receive.

"I would rather be executed for treason a hundred times than abandon my friend, Volteer," Cyril said softly. "Please tell me you believe that much."

"I do."

"I just imagined it being so much more glorious than some dirty mountain," he continued, turning away from the doorway and the yowling apes outside. "How will they ever know we died bravely? That we didn't just cower and surrender?"

Volteer fell silent for a moment, listening to the clamour of their attackers echo through the small chamber. "They won't. But the Ancestors will."

Cyril's eyes sparkled, but whether it was just from tears, Volteer couldn't tell. "That… You wouldn't get away with saying that in a hatchling's tale, you idiot." He coughed out a laugh, an incredulous sound, before wiping his eyes furiously with the back of his paw. The action streaked a small bit of blood from a cut on his muzzle. "If we're going to do this, then you'd better get behind me. You might be able to give me a little bit of covering fire. I'm going to go for the big one first."

Volteer nodded, shuffling backwards towards an outcropping of rock nearby that would give him a good view of the doorway. Cyril was retightening his armour in quick, nervous movements, eyes fixed on his slowly demolishing barricade. There was no point trying to reinforce it at this stage; going close to it would mean putting himself at risk of a sword to the face. Instead, he planted himself about ten paces away with room for a running charge at the first ape inside.

Volteer took the final few moments to rummage around his packs. Even a small shard of spirit gem could be the difference between having enough power to electrocute someone from afar and only slowing them down. He flung aside the various maps, tools, bandages and water, all but tearing the remaining bags to shreds.

There was a loud resounding crack throughout the room. The ape commander's sword had erupted through the ice, forming the first link between the inside and out. It was withdrawn quickly and a harsh voice wafted through in sinister fashion.

"Hope you're comfy in there, dragons. I brought all my friends t'play. They didn't wanna miss out on the action. I reckon Gaul's gonna give a full command to whichever one of us brings him your pretty hides!"

Cyril's lip curled. "Get ready, Volteer…"

Volteer reached the bottom of his last pack and his claws closed around a small cloth-wrapped bundle tied with twine. For a moment he looked at it, unable to remember what it was. Then his heart sank as the memory returned to him. He looked over his shoulder. The apes had enlarged the hole almost to a size to allow one of the smaller soldiers in, but they would wait and rush in as a group. Cyril stood there stoically, watching them. Volteer limped up to his friend hurriedly.

"Cyril."

The ice dragon turned his head sideways. "What is it?"

Volteer pressed the little bundle of cloth into one of Cyril's paws and motioned for him to open it. He spoke quickly. "I'd been meaning to give that to you yesterday night, just in case something was to go wrong today. I'm afraid it's probably not in the best of conditions at the present time, but I'd wanted to save it for the right day."

Cyril looked at him in amazement, then down to the little package in his paw. After a second, he lifted a claw and cut through the twine.

Volteer took a breath before continuing "I know we've only known each other a few years, but I couldn't have asked for a better friend and Guardian. No-one else would have gone in after me back there, and no-one else would have carried me out at the expense of his own escape. You're a testament to your family and race, and I promise you you'll be remembered."

Another block of ice came crashing inside, eliciting a great cry from the apes. Volteer coughed and continued rapidly. "And I know we're probably a little old for this too, but I thought it a good joke at the time. Happy hatchday, Cyril."

Cyril said nothing. There in his paw, unwrapped from the cloth, was the sorry remains of what had once been a cake. It was nothing more than a pawful of crumbs, completely and utterly ruined by the punishment it had taken in Volteer's packs. The barest residue of blue icing was smeared on the cloth, along with a small candle broken in two. With a flick of his claws, Volteer stuck the larger piece through the cloth and ignited it with a spark of electricity. It glowed for the briefest moment before the tiny shred of wick was engulfed in wax and sputtered out.

Cyril let his paw drop to the ground, spilling the crumbs on the floor. His other came around to sweep Volteer into a bone-crushing hug. Volteer started as he heard his friend choke back a sob.

"You son of a bitch. I would have dragged you back from hell itself. I…I…"

They had perhaps a minute left before the barrier collapsed completely. Volteer patted his friend's armoured back as best he could in the tight grip Cyril had him in. "I know. You don't have to say anything."

Cyril released him, but only enough so as to stare Volteer right in the face. He was grinning weakly through his tears. "I will pay you pack for this, you know."

Despite the circumstances, Volteer grinned back. "You've only got the rest of your life, after all."

Cyril nodded sharply and let him go. Volteer slid backwards to the wall, aiming for the doorway once again. In front of him, Cyril gave a roar.

"_Come on, then!_" he screamed. "_What are you waiting for!?_"

The tendrils of ice holding the remains of the barrier to the wall began to retreat, releasing their iron grip on the stone as they flowed down to the floor. For one wild moment, Volteer wondered if the apes were somehow using magic to bring it down. Then the little rivulets met the ground and began flowing across the floor towards Cyril, who stood in a wide crouching stance. They met his paws and continued on, flowing up his legs and over his armour. As Volteer watched in amazement, larger broken chunks from the doorway detached themselves and rolled across the floor seemingly of their own volition, joining the stream of liquid ice slowly encasing Cyril. It ran up his forepaws, hardening into bladed gauntlets of pure ice. His tailblade doubled in size, as did his helmet and the pauldrons over his shoulders. In seconds he presented a fearsome sight, a moving wall of ice facing the enemy.

Outside, the ape commander took one final swing and the fragile remains of their shield exploded like crystal. The hallway behind him reverberated with yelps and battle cries as he took the first step over the threshold. Behind him, smaller soldiers clamoured to be the next ones through the gap, hefting their puny weapons or lit torches. Volteer summoned up his remaining magical energy as across the room, Cyril thundered forwards.

With a howl, the ape commander ran to meet him with his curved sword held high. As they closed on each other, the ape made to bring the sword down in a strike that would have severed Cyril's head from his shoulders. Cyril raised one of his ice-encrusted forepaws to meet it and there was a brutal crunch as weapon met armour. Cyril shouted in pain, but the sword hadn't managed to cut through the double layer of ice and steel. Instead, it was the ape who now shouted as he realised his sword was stuck fast in the ice covering Cyril's paw. Seizing on the opportunity, Cyril clamped his other paw around the blade, wrenching it left and right in an attempt to pull it from the ape's clutches.

More little soldiers swarmed in from both sides, circling around the two behemoths locked in combat. Volteer fired a concentrated ball of electricity at them, sending it arcing across the chamber to explode amidst a group of enemies. Their seared bodies twitched and, for a moment, the tide of apes hesitated.

Cyril finally managed to yank the sword from its owner, flinging it away and forcing him to cower behind his shield. Now on the offensive, Cyril landed three devastating blows on the poorly-made weapon, splintering and buckling the iron-banded wood into tinder. Flaring his wings to dissuade the smaller cronies encircling him, he plunged in for the killing blow. His jaws closed around the defenceless ape's head. There was a sharp crack not unlike ice breaking.

Cyril stepped back and roared in triumph at the smaller apes around him. Suddenly, a javelin flew in through the doorway, striking him dead in the chest. Cyril fell backwards as the projectile smashed against his armour, cleaving through the ice and caving in his chest plates. A croak of agony was all that came out of his mouth at the impact, which forced him to his knees. The second of the apes' commanders strode through, lining up the third and last of his missiles. Volteer stumbled forwards and shot another desperate lightning bolt. It missed the ape's arm, but the bright light caused him to flinch as he threw. The shot sailed just wide of Cyril's head for the second time, allowing the downed guardian to wrench away his armour and breath properly.

The smaller apes now rushed towards Volteer, who had fallen again in the wake of using so much energy. Cyril leaped to intercept them, swinging his enlarged tailblade in a wide arc and catching several of them mid-jump. They flew backwards like ragdolls, limp and lifeless. Cyril planted himself in front of his downed friend, assuming a defensive posture. In front of them, their enemies regrouped around their remaining commander, who took up his fallen comrade's sword.

"I don't think…" Cyril panted, glancing back at Volteer, "that I'll be able to pull of the same trick twice."

He pulled his ruined ice-gauntlets off; no time to reform them from scratch. Another handful of apes rushed them but, isolated as they were, they stood no chance. Cyril simply plucked the leading ape up in his jaws and smashed him against the ground. A small dagger thrown at him by a second ape simply _plinked_ off his bare scales, its owner gaping in shock as Cyril's paw came down like a hammer on his head. Volteer fired off his last bit of elemental energy to fry the remaining two, their limbs doing a strange dance as they convulsed to the floor. Finally reaching his limit, Volteer collapsed.

The writhing sea of apes that remained approached slowly and relentlessly around their leader, fanning out in all direction. Their cries filled the whole chamber. The worst part about this, Volteer thought dryly, was that he was going to have to die with their awful cacophony filling his ears. Their horrible voices screeched and grated against one another, almost as if they were in pain.

Then, from outside in the corridor, came a most definite screech of agony.

The sea of heads inside the chamber turned for a moment. The bright glow of torches outside in the hallway was getting stronger, casting flickering shadows high up on the walls. There was even a pall of smoke beginning to waft through the doorway into the chamber. Apes from outside were streaming in, pushing and shoving each other in an attempt to get inside. Then, there was an unmistakable roar.

Cyril tipped his head back and whooped in reply. "_Ignitus!"_

Without waiting for an answer, the Ice Guardian ploughed into the sea of enemies ahead of him. With some space to manoeuvre, and against such small enemies, he was deadly efficient, claws and tail striking in perfect synergy, clearing a path over the broken bodies of the apes. The nervous soldiers looked to their commander for guidance, but he faltered at the sound of reinforcements emerging through the doorway behind him.

Swathed in flame from head to tail and driving a screeching pack of burning apes before him stood Ignitus. The Fire Guardian's face was twisted in a berserker rage as he fired a stream of liquid fire into the cauldron of enemies in front of him. All of a sudden the apes began to panic, faced with dragons to the front and back. Their commander twisted around, indecision clouding his thick features. Ignitus' sudden appearance had proved enough of a distraction to allow Cyril to cut his way in behind the huge ape. Before he could so much as lift an arm in his defence, Cyril's tailblade snaked its way around to slit his throat and the huge beast crumpled to the floor.

"Ignitus!" Cyril called out over the chorus of screams. "A fury would go a long way towards getting us out of here!"

Ignitus closed his mouth, severing the burning stream that by now had carved a wide swath in front of him. "Then you'd better take some shelter!"

Numbly, Volteer watched as Cyril fell back over the mountain of corpses he'd created. Some of the apes not running blindly in panic moved to intercept him, but he was untouchable with salvation this close. Each precise, merciless blow felled ape after ape, and in seconds he had reached his friend's side.

"This is going to hurt, Volteer," he said gaily, hooking a paw underneath Volteer's prone form and hoisting him up onto his back once more. "But it'll hurt a lot more if I leave you out here!"

Dimly, Volteer could see a number of other dragons in the hallway outside, driving back whatever forces were out there, but Ignitus alone commanded the attention of the enemies in the chamber now. As a powerful red aura began to form around him, the apes rushed for the exit, but the heat was far too much for them to overcome and they fell back again.

Cyril deposited Volteer roughly into the farthest alcove from the door as the glow inside the chamber reached an almost unbearable intensity. Cyril crouched in front of him, shielding Volteer with his own body. His element would provide some protection, but the apes scrambling to copy them did so in vain.

"The only thing we need now," Cyril yelled over the roar of Ignitus' growing fury, "is for this bugger to misfire and hit us too, eh?!"

Volteer couldn't answer; his throat was too dry to make a sound. As the heat reached an almost untenable point, it felt like it was only the shelter Cyril was giving him that was preventing him from being seared to death. Finally, Ignitus' power detonated and the world went dark.

* * *

><p>There was no sound in the apartment aside from the soft chirp of crickets outside the window and the slightly shaky rise and fall of Cyril's breathing as he stood patiently. Volteer made to open his mouth and realised there were tears running down his cheeks. The candles on his desk had burned low; the wicks were in danger of being engulfed by the pools of wax they sat in. They sputtered like the words he tried to form as his paw rose to touch the faded scales of his chest. His breath caught for a moment as he remembered the blade's entry.<p>

"Why?" he managed finally, raising his head to catch Cyril's gaze once more. "We've faced death a thousand times together. We've fought in battles that changed the face of the earth; we've given speeches to tens of thousands of soldiers. Why that day?"

Cyril didn't reply. He too seemed to be measuring his words, opening and closing his mouth a few times before eventually responding. When he did, his voice was gravelly, hoarse, just as it had been when he'd opened the cloth to find a pawful of crumbs.

"That was the first time it had been just us. The first time where it was only each of us watching the other's back. I know…" he said, raising his paw just before Volteer could object, "it was me that carried you out. But you showed me the type of dragon you were that day. You'd rather die than let the dark armies get away unscathed. You'd have let me leave you there if that's what I'd really wanted to do."

His mouth curled upwards in a wry smile. "And you brought a stupid cake into the middle of a warzone, just so you could wish me a happy hatchday. How could I not remember it? You were the best dragon I ever knew and I swore to you that day I'd pay you back. The rest of my life, remember? I said I'd sneak it in just in time."

"Cyril, I…"

His smile broadened. "You don't need to say a word. But I'd have been damned if I was going to meet the Ancestors owing you anything."

Volteer could think of nothing to say, so he just nodded. There was nothing left to say.

Cyril's smile turned a little uncomfortable as his gaze drifted to the faltering candles. "It seems I've stayed a little longer than I'd planned, I'm afraid. I don't know if I'll be able to make it back to the other side of the city. I'm surprised they haven't launched a search party for me by now."

"Spyro's doing, I assume," Volteer answered, looking over into the corner. "You're more than welcome to take back up your old spot, if you can bear to demean yourself in such a manner again?"

Cyril shook his head ruefully. "Unfortunately I can't. My army of healers have another dose to administer to me before I go to sleep. Poor devils can't just accept the inevitable, that I'm on the way out."

"Well then, it seems there's only one thing for it," Volteer offered. "Come here, put your leg over my shoulder."

Cyril recoiled sharply. "Oh Ancestors, no, Volteer. I couldn't ask you to do that. It could take the better part of a few hours to limp that far. You should take some time to go over the scroll, too. I'm sure you must be dying to read it."

Volteer shook his head with a laugh. "Some things can wait, Cyril. Others can't."

Ignoring Cyril's protestations, he clambered stiffly in under his metal leg, laying it across his shoulders. Cyril sighed in resignation as they turned to face the door, looking like they were participating in a festival race, but he couldn't hide a small smirk. They exited the apartment, heading side-by-side down the darkened streets, each leaning on the other, facing the path ahead together.

_The End_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: That concludes my first ever attempt at a oneshot! **

**This idea had been niggling away at me for months now, and in the absence of any inspiration for SBtF I decided to sit down and do it. As anyone who reads my stories will know, I love Volteer and Cyril to death. They're the most underdone characters of the entire game series. Volteer gets ONE LINE in DotD. My personal headcanon for them is that beneath their insults and jibes is a friendship that was forged a long time ago, one that means a great deal to both of them. This story reflects that. That and I wanted to write something that wasn't relentlessly grim. xD**

**Anyway, I'd love to hear what any of you reading this thought of it. Nearly everything about this (setting, length, only two real characters) is a departure from my usual stuff, so any feedback is appreciated. To the long-suffering readers of Serpent Beneath the Flower, I can only ask that you wait a while longer. It will be finished.**

**While I'm on the subject of long-suffering people, huge thanks once again to Riverstyxx for her impeccable editing. You might know her from the best stories on the archive, so go show her some love~**

**I think that's everything. xD Until next time, peoples.**

**Slán,**

**SerBlack**


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